


Consequences

by cenotaphy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Episode: s11e01 Out of the Darkness Into the Fire, Episode: s11e02 Form and Void, Gen, Guilty Sam, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Protective Sam Winchester, Rowena's Attack Dog Spell, Season/Series 11, follow-up piece available, now it's a two shot, well no longer a one shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-16 08:50:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8095774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cenotaphy/pseuds/cenotaphy
Summary: On his way back to the Bunker after dropping Jenna and Amara off, Sam comes face-to-face with the consequences of his desperate ploy to save Dean when he nearly runs over a barely conscious, half-feral Castiel, struggling to resist the effects of Rowena's spell.A re-imagining of the beginning of Season 11, in which Dean, not Sam, stays behind at the hospital to deal with the infected town, and Cas doesn't pray to the angels for help.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Now with a [follow-up piece](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9896000)!

It's nice to be driving the Impala for a reason other than that his Mark-addled brother tried to leave the car to him and go off himself via Death the freaking Horseman of the Apocalypse, but Sam still wishes Dean was with him. His brother had insisted on making the stupid sacrificial play again, and had distracted the rabid infected townspeople so Sam could escape with Jenna and the baby. Miraculously, it hadn't gotten Dean killed; Sam had talked to him on the phone that morning, at the gas station, and Dean had sounded shaken but unhurt.

"I'll finish up here," Dean had said determinedly, over the phone, "see if I can contain everyone so the infection doesn't spread." He'd added, with a laugh that sounded oddly forced, "Maybe I'll even get lucky and figure out how to cure this."

"Should I come back—"

"No, no, you drop Jenna off and then head back to the Bunker, I'll meet you there."

Amara had been fussy the whole way to Jenna's grandmother's, whimpering and squirming when Sam held her briefly in the driveway. He can't say why the infant leaves him unsettled; perhaps it's just that she seems part and parcel of that dark hospital with its empty corridors and its scent of death and decay.

He leaves one hand on the wheel and dials Cas for the umpteenth time, but still there's no answer, and Sam tries to quash his growing sense of unease. He hasn't heard from the angel since before he'd gone to find Dean, and although it seems he can assume Rowena cooperated to the extent of casting the spell to remove the Mark, having the witch and Crowley in the same room is equivalent to holding a time bomb in one's lap. Not that he doesn't think Cas would have been able to handle them, but it's been almost two days, now, with no word, and Sam would feel a lot better if the angel would pick up.

Until then, his strategy is just to head for the abandoned building where he'd imprisoned Rowena, in the hopes that Cas is still there. Or, if shit did end up hitting the fan, as seems to be their luck for the past decade or so, he can pick up the angel's trail. He's only about half an hour out now, and he speeds up, the road open and deserted in front of him, and dials again without much hope.

Abruptly a figure staggers out of the trees and into the middle of the road. Sam slams on the brakes, wincing at the resulting screech and the mental image of Dean's appalled face if he could hear it. The Impala grinds to a halt just in time, and the figure—head lowered, stance lopsided—takes a heavy step forward and slumps over the hood.

Sam is out of the car in the flash, his phone abandoned on the seat. Because even if he can't see the person's face, there's no mistaking the beige coat and shock of unruly black hair.

"Cas," he says in mingled alarm and relief, as he strides around the front of the car. "Are you alright, I've been—"

That's as far as he gets before Cas raises his head and _snarls_ at him—a feral, hateful sound, low in the back of his throat. Sam pulls up short, shock running cold through his veins. Cas is pale-faced and shaking, his teeth bared like an animal's. And his _eyes_. They're bloodshot, unfocused, the sclera stained scarlet, and the deep lilac hollows in the skin beneath are streaked with dried blood.

It strikes at something in Sam's memory, digs up something unpleasant he'd wanted to forget. He's seen eyes like that before. That girl, the blonde one outside Kansas City that Rowena had gotten her claws into.

"Cas?" There's no recognition in his friend's face, just that wild and fearful expression, the growl still simmering out in a low rumble. Sam shifts his back foot, settling into a more defensive stance, one that he has a better chance of holding if Cas rushes him. He holds his hands up, palms out, and speaks softly. "Cas, it's me, it's Sam, it's okay. It's okay."

Rather than charging him, Cas flinches back, out of his reach, still leaning heavily on the Impala's hood. His eyes dart left and right, his whole body rigid, spine hunched and coiled like a steel spring. Another snarl bubbles out from his lips.

 _Stay calm_. Sam tries again. "Cas, look at me," he coaxes. "Castiel. You're okay. Come back to me, man."

Cas tilts his head. Finally a flicker of recognition flares in his bloody eyes, followed by the familiar creasing of his forehead. "Sam?" he breathes, and then his face twists in anguish. "I can't...control..." His legs fold at the knees and he collapses forward.

Sam catches him, dropping to one knee as he maneuvers to hold Cas up by the arms. "I gotcha," he pants, trying to keep his friend from face-planting right into the asphalt. "Hang on, I gotcha." The angel's whole body is trembling, his fists clenched, his teeth gritted as he fights whatever the spell is doing to him.

"It's okay," Sam repeats, wrapping his fingers around Castiel's arms, dropping his voice to a low murmur as Cas shudders and gasps against his shoulder. "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay."

"Sam..." Cas's voice is ragged, hoarse. "Rowena...she got away, she took the...the book and the codex...I'm sorry..." His voice cracks on the last word.

"Rowena did this to you?" Sam curls his fingers into the fabric of Cas's trench coat. Confirmation of his theory only makes him feel worse. Because it's _his_ fault Cas is in this situation, after all. His fault Cas was alone in that building with a witch who had the power of the fucking Book of the Damned at her fingertips.

"She cast...I didn't kill Crowley...she...whenever it senses, a threat, and I can't...I can't fight it, Sam, I _can't_." Cas seems barely able to speak, the words slipping out in short bursts, almost incomprehensible. His breath is still coming in shaky gasps, his fingers clutching at Sam's shoulders now. A sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead, though the temperature outside is pleasant.

"Yes, you _can_." Sam tries not to think about the girl, how she'd sobbed _I can't_ through the closet door, her desperate screams as she'd beat at the wood with her fists. When she'd gone silent and he'd opened the closet, all that he'd seen was her corpse. "You're fighting it now."

" _No_." Cas lets go of Sam's shoulders, pushes weakly at his chest instead. Whatever berserk strength the spell usually imbues on its victims must work the other way when they're lucid, because there's no strength in Cas's limbs now, and his head stays dropped onto Sam's shoulder even as the angel feebly tries to push him away. "It keeps digging deeper, Sam. I'm trying, but I can't hold it at bay indefinitely. You...have to get away from me. Please, Sam. Before I hurt you."

"Not gonna happen." Sam slides one arm around Cas's shoulders, lifts him back to his feet. So help him, he is _not_ going to lose Cas now, not when he's just gotten Dean back, not when Cas is only in danger because of him. "Come on, get in the car. I'm taking you back to the Bunker."

"You can't. You can't take me there." Cas starts to struggle anew, though since he can barely stand as is, his attempts are ineffectual. "You can't. I'm dangerous—I'll _ruin_ —" He shakes his head violently, words slurring as he tugs weakly at the front of Sam's shirt. "You have to leave. Me. I'll hurt you. Sam, _I'll hurt you_ , I've already—I can't control it—Sam, _please, go_ —" His voice sounds splintered, crumbling.

Sam feels close to crumbling himself, as he tries to hold his friend upright. Cas has already lasted longer than the girl Rowena enspelled, but even if his angelhood is slowing the spell down, it's clearly not enough for him to be altogether immune. Heat radiates from Cas's form, even through the layers of his clothing; as if the spell is charring him from the inside out.

It's always this, Sam thinks. Always back to this. Fire and smoke and ashes. The people that he cares for, they all burn eventually. Because of him.

Apologies pile up, useless, on the back of his tongue.

"We'll figure it out, Cas," he hears himself say instead. _Don't panic. Stay calm._ "We'll find Rowena and get her to lift the spell." He won't let himself think about the alternative, won't let himself imagine his friend sprawled on the ground like the last unfortunate victim, head askew, blood leaking out from his eyes and nose. He's seen the ending to this already, knows where this spell leads. He curses Rowena with every fiber of his being, curses himself too, for letting Cas down, for leaving Cas to suffer.

As if to underscore that, Cas doubles over and coughs up a dark mouthful of blood. "...sorry," he mutters.

 _Don't_ , Sam thinks, _don't apologize._ He tries not to imagine the spell melting Cas's insides. _Don't_ you _apologize to_ me.

Cas raises his head, blood streaking his chin. He blinks blearily at the empty passenger seat. "Where...where's Dean." A shadow of horror crosses his face suddenly as he snaps from pliant back to rigid. "The Mark. _Sam_ , the _Mark_ , Dean, did it—"

"It's gone," Sam interrupts hastily. "It's _gone_ , Cas, we did it. We saved him."

He finds himself still reeling from the reality of that statement—they _have_ saved Dean, after months of desperation. Even so, he thinks the words should feel like more of an accomplishment, and maybe they would if he wasn't holding his cursed, hemorrhaging best friend in his arms and simultaneously dealing with the knowledge that they've released an ancient evil back into the world. But the statement seems to be enough for Cas, who lets out a shuddering breath and relaxes slightly. Sam takes the opportunity to open the passenger side door and push the angel gently into the car.

"Wait." Cas locks fingers around his wrist as Sam moves to close the door. It's a surprisingly strong grip considering how severely the angel is still shivering. Sam sees a glint of silver flash from the angel's other sleeve and he barely manages to avoid flinching as Cas's angel blade slips into view. "Take it."

Sam blanches. "Cas, no."

"Take it." Cas's eyes are still that terrible bloodstained red. "In case I lose control and you have to—to—"

"Not going to happen," Sam repeats firmly, but he does reach out and take the angel blade, since Cas doesn't look like he's prepared to accept no for an answer.

Relinquishing the weapon seems to calm his friend; some of the tension eases from Cas's body, and he slowly buckles his seatbelt, then leans back in the seat with a sigh, closing his eyes. Sam gives him an evaluative once-over—Cas still looks awful, but it seems more like exhaustion than magically-induced aggression, now—before moving hastily back to the driver's side and sliding in.

"I should—be restrained." Cas's eyes are open again; he looks wildly around the interior of the Impala. "Are there cuffs, I know you keep restraints in the car—" He holds his hands up, wrists close together, as if he expects Sam to slap a pair of handcuffs on him right then and there.

"Cas, no." Sam is trying to dial Dean, but getting no answer, and it's doing nothing to help the anxious black pit in his stomach. "You don't need to lock yourself down, you can handle this spell."

"I won't risk it. Nothing's worth..." Cas sways in his seat. Sam reaches out in alarm to steady him. Too late, he realizes that he's still holding the angel blade in that hand. It's the wrong move, possibly the _worst_ move; Cas recoils violently as Sam touches him, and in a flash his hand snaps up to wrap around Sam's throat, his blue-and-scarlet eyes sharpening to a vicious, razor focus.

Sam makes a strangled sound as he loses the breath he'd been about to take, dropping the phone to clutch at Cas's wrist with his free hand. It doesn't do any good; Cas's grip is like iron, the angel's face once more devoid of recognition or rationality, his lips skinned back into a snarl once more.

"Cas," Sam manages to choke out, through his friend's throttling vice grip. He pointedly drops the angel blade, lets it slip down onto the seat between them, where it shimmers silver-bright against the dark leather. Cas's eyes flicker downward, following the motion of the weapon, but the pressure of his fingers against Sam's windpipe doesn't let up.

Sam holds onto Cas's shoulder with his now weaponless hand, grips the smooth fabric of the coat, feels the tremors in Cas's shoulder, the contracted muscles of his outstretched arm. "Cas, it's _okay_." His head is starting to swim from lack of air. "It's okay," he mutters again, forcing the words out like thick cotton over a tongue that feels suddenly heavy and clumsy.

Through blurring vision he sees realization pass over Cas's face for the second time, sees Cas's expression go taut with horror. Then he feels the fingers around his throat go slack, and the pressure vanishes. Sam lurches forward in his seat, sucking in a gasping breath.

"Sam." Cas sounds terrified. "Sam, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—"

"It's okay," Sam rasps yet again, massaging his throat.

"No." Cas is shaking his head. "No, no, Sam, you—you—" His gaze goes to the angel blade. "—you have to kill me, before I hurt you— _again_ —"

"It's my fault, Cas. You said the spell reacts to threats, I shouldn't have shoved the blade in your face like that. And you _still_ stopped. Cas, _you fought the spell off_. You're not going to hurt me."

"You don't know that." A glazed, frantic expression is taking hold of Cas's face; his eyes slide away from Sam's, a haunted, hunted look.

"Yes, I do," says Sam firmly. Deliberately, he reaches out to put his hand back on Cas's shoulder.

Cas twitches in alarm at the touch, and the sound he makes is low and miserable. "Don't," he all but whimpers. "Sam, please, I'll...what if I..." He lets out a low groan, burying his face in his hands. Beneath his coat, his shoulders are tense and shaking. "I can't. Rowena. I...he's still alive. I need...don't make me fight you...please."

Sam listens to the feverish ramblings with mounting dismay. "Cas, it's okay. Just calm down. I'm not afraid—"

" _You should be!_ " Cas hisses, blood-drenched gaze whipping suddenly back to meet Sam's, lucid but still suddenly all fire and anger and power for an instant, and Sam almost pulls back. He doesn't, though—he keeps his hand firmly on Cas's shoulder, squeezing gently, trying to channel a calm he doesn't feel. He meets Cas's wild and furious gaze, makes himself accept the streaked blood and burst capillaries ( _his_ fault, _Sam's_ fault, it's his fault just like Charlie and a whole long line before her). Cas holds the stare for only a moment, and then his surge of energy is gone and he's slumping forward against the shoulder belt, murmuring incoherently. His eyes are unfocused again, fixed on something in the distance.

 _Don't panic_ , Sam repeats silently, a mantra for himself. He starts the car forward again, forcing down his worry as he watches Cas twitch and mutter in the passenger seat. He hopes Dean gets to the Bunker ahead of him, or at least soon after—they need to find Rowena, or find a counterspell, find something. The Darkness can stay on hold, for now, everything can stay on hold. They'll fix this. _Sam_ is going to fucking fix this, he's not going to lose another person to his own idiocy.

"We'll fix this, Cas," he says out loud, shooting a glance at the angel. "We'll go back to the Bunker and we'll fix this." But Cas, leaning against the passenger side window, gives no sign of having heard. His eyes are screwed shut, though beneath the lids they're still darting back and forth to look at invisible foes, his hands twitching convulsively over his knees. With his eyes closed he looks even more ancient and exhausted and drained—his skin pale and colorless, the lines on his face accentuated to the point of haggardness. His lower lip is still coated in blood, a wet red shine.

"I'm so fucking sorry, Cas," Sam says to the road.

**Author's Note:**

> Any feedback is welcome and appreciated!


End file.
